Merry Go Sorry
by littlereaperboy
Summary: A Merry-Go-Sorry can be defined as "a tale that evokes joy and sadness simultaneously." The music played at the restaurant that Ox has been saving up to bring Kim to on a date can qualify as such, and it does, as it gets both of their minds working while they try to dance to it.


**_Author's note:_** _This is based off of the Marasy cover of 'Just Be Friends,' from Vocaloid2. Simply piano, and I just ... Imagined this scene, despite the words to the actual song. I love this pairing so much, and I think there should be more fanfiction and things for them... their dynamic is strikingly beautiful, really, and it gives me both warm fuzzies and achy chest pains ;.; It's also the longest thing I've posted on here so far - I hope anyone who reads it enjoys it, and I'd love to know:3_

**DISCLAIMER**: Nothing but headcanon and plot belongs to me. All characters are credited to Atsushi Ōkubo.

.:oOo:.

Walking back from work, Ox would have a habit of picking up pennies and dimes from the crevices in the sidewalk, pocketing them to save for later and do something worthwhile. He had something in mind, something special, but never had he dreamed that even when he had enough, he'd be able to do it.

There was a certain restaurant in town that he'd been admiring, and rather fondly, with daydreams of someday being able to bring Kim there. It seemed extraordinary, from the outside at least, and through the window, but even then he knew that it'd be expensive. He didn't mind, and even if she never accepted him, at least he would have done something to occupy his time, and he could spend it on something else if it came down to it.

He never actually thought far enough into those daydreams to figure out how that night would go when he really got to take her.

She wore a blue dress – she looked exquisite, without a doubt. Her hair was pulled back with a clip on one side, twisted and tucked over her ear, her hands fiddling with one another in front of her as she stepped onto her porch.

"You said to dress up," she told him, as if she felt the need to justify her appearance. Her hands moved to extend at her sides as she gave a small swish of her hips that made her dress wrap around her legs in a coil and back again, faint shimmers glinting off the fabric even in the orange evening. Like nothing short of a butterfly, iridescence and all.

"What do you think?" She asked with a slight wince, her hands moving back to curl in the cloth at the sides of her thighs, bunching it up uncertainly in loose fists as her shoulders hiked just a bit. She should have known that she could have worn a burlap sack and he would have still thought she was an angel.

"I think you look… remarkable," Ox answered, a soft chuckle falling from his mouth on the exhale that the word had grabbed onto. He smiled, stepping up to set his foot on the first step of the porch, venturing to reach for her hand with one of his while his other arm tucked behind his back. She released the fabric of her dress and let him, and he bowed slightly to press a chaste kiss just above her knuckles.

He was still rather unused to the smile he'd been receiving in return lately. He had often dreamed of it, of course, but still – sometimes, he couldn't grasp onto that it was, in fact, real.

"It's actually not that far," he said in regards to the restaurant, straightening up and releasing her hand to step back and give her room to follow. "I would have brought my moped but I figured maybe we could just… walk? Take our time. I made reservations for six, and it's still a bit early."

"I'd like that," she nodded, and moved to walk in step with him, bouncing slightly and beaming as she sang her next words. "We can meander~"

"Meandering is nice, yes," Ox chuckled again, bowing his head in a nod. The sun was drooling in the sky with droopy eyes, heaving tired breaths. The atmosphere would be purple soon, and maybe they'd be lucky enough to see it before they got to the restaurant.

.:oOo:.

The music in the place was soothing; smooth jazz, soft piano played by a man in a white jacket with long coattails that hung over the back of the bench. From where Ox was sitting, he could see the piano man over Kim's shoulder, and how people would occasionally get up to dance in the open space. The lighting was just a step up above dim, and a single rose sat in a thin vase at the center of the table, the height of it from Ox's line of view leaving it to stop just under Kim's chin.

He might have reached to move it had it not appeared that she was smelling it every time she lowered her head, or that it was kissing her cheek when she turned to glance around. Like a butterfly still, perching upon a place to rest, that only accentuated its beauty upon being touched or neared.

He would look up at her every now and again in glimpses as she surveyed the menu, watching how she nibbled at her upper lip in contemplation, and flipped the page back and forth as though she were torn between two very enticing things. He himself had already decided upon something, but looked back down at his own menu anyway until the waiter came, to avert his eyes and simply smile to himself alone.

Somewhere along the line, though, silence wavered around them in an uncertain cloud. They picked at their breadsticks in quiet, releasing breathy chuckles here and there as they reached for the same one a few times, and he withdrew his hand to let her take it.

"We should maybe… dance," she piped up after a while, and Ox tilted his head up to stare at her, his fork barely making it to his mouth. "This song is really nice."

"Of course," he agreed, though he swallowed back a surge of unease; dancing had never been his forte. He would never tell her that, though, especially when she had suggested it. Why deny her something she wanted?

It wasn't until she had led him to the open floor that he found out dancing wasn't her forte, either.

She stared down at their feet quite obviously, her head bowed and her body almost angled away from his as she appeared to be counting her steps to the beat of the song that had just begun playing; its melody jumped, though, from softer, delicate notes to heavy, happy jazz. It startled them both, and Ox flinched, his hands twitching where they rested at her waist.

"Hey," he said eventually, when he figured the melody might stay put. "Look up at me."

Her eyes, wide and almost unnaturally green, rose up to meet the thick lenses of his glasses, and he smiled.

"I think just listen to the music and you'll be okay."

She seemed to consider this, before exhaling heavily through her nose in a sigh, nodding and reaffirming her grip on her own hands as her fingers laced together behind his neck. It wasn't like her to appear nervous at all; she was always about as graceful as a swan in his opinion, confident and bright and utterly sublime. A most divine creature. To think that something about tonight made that waver – he couldn't tell if the pit in his stomach was a collection of warmth or his own nervousness at fearing stepping on her foot.

But then again, how hard was it to sway, really?

"I love this song," she said, her eyes having shifted to the piano man. "It's the instrumental of a Luka song, I think. It's called _'Just Be Friends.'_"

"I don't think I've heard it," he told her, his fingers nearly twitching at her sides again. He was barely touching her, his hands simply curled so all that met her dress were the heels of his palms and his fingertips.

She laughed quietly. "Don't let the melody fool you. It's actually really sad."

"How so?" The tone of the song altered almost immediately after he asked, fading into faint clinks of higher keys in slow succession. Their swaying slowed in accordance, without much of Ox's notice, as he had focused more on Kim's answer.

"It's a breakup song," she said simply, "but it's really dark. I know the first verse compares their relationship to broken pottery that cut her fingers as she tried to pick it up… and something later about their hearts being filled with thorns."

As she spoke, she ducked her head again, but this time tilting it to rest against his collarbone, her hands unwinding from around his neck to simply hook one on his shoulder, the other trailing lightly down his arm in search of his own hand. He quickly relinquished it, his other hand venturing to shift and rest at the small of her back. Her voice had grown softer as she recollected the lyrics to this song he'd never heard, murmuring something about heavy rain and shouting, shaken bones and the end of beautiful things.

"It does sound sad," he said when she seemed to have finished explaining what she knew, his jaw rested against the side of her head. His words, had they been solid, might have stuck in her hair like dandelion seeds, clinging by tiny anchors and twisted strands.

"Yeah. But the real version is even more upbeat than this, that he's playing. It's almost scary, when you think about it. How someone could write something so happy sounding, to go along with something so tragic…"

"Deceptive artistry. I understand it."

"Of course you do," she huffed, though it sounded like she was smiling, and he knew this by the gentle pinch she gave his shoulder. "You're a genius."

"No, I just mean…" he shook his head, another short laugh hopping from his mouth, "it makes sense to me, why they'd do that. When you hear it without words, for instance, like now, it can appear as something suitable to dance to. It can fool people who don't listen to the real words or meaning behind it. I understand the appeal of doing something like that. It's clever."

"Is there a word for that?" She wondered aloud, "An actual word?"

"I think some refer to it as 'dissonance,' though I've heard 'incongruity' and 'juxtaposition,' as well. All of those words have their own meanings but writers tend to use them in description. I believe an old term for things like that is 'Merry-Go-Sorry.'"

Kim hummed quietly, her fingers at his shoulder moving to idly trifle with the hem of his vest. Their dancing, by now, hardly matched the tune of the song at all, the rapid sequence of notes as the piano man pounded on the keys not in any way fitting their leisurely two-stepping. Ox wouldn't dare attempt to disturb the peace they seemed to have found by trying to spin her or move any faster, unwilling to lose the contentment that surrounded them with a stunt he knew would go awry. This was worth looking silly to anyone else, dancing out of time.

It was so different, he thought, from how she'd pressed against him at Baba Yaga's Castle – before her knife had sunk into his skin and Harvar's blade pierced hers in return. Then, he'd pushed her away. He knew it wasn't her, the real her – the extraordinary, resplendent dove that he was certain she truly was. Then, when he knew it was a cheap lie.

Now, though, in this moment, there was no doubt in the contact he'd longed for. There was only warmth, and complacency, and the fact that there was no blood between them was more than enough.

"…I don't want to be like the girl in the song," she said abruptly, shaking him from his thoughts. Her shoulders tensed ever slightly as she said this, and she nearly lifted her head, but did not, rather clinging minutely tighter.

"I don't want this to end up broken pottery on the floor."

Ox blinked, raising his own head away from hers to straighten and gesture for her to look up at him again, releasing her hand to lift her chin with a curled finger beneath it.

He hadn't forgotten about that, either. That fear. It wrenched at his insides when it showed itself in the smaller things she'd say, in the way she formed those words. The faint quiver in the voice of the part of her mind that fueled the one she let everyone hear, and believe.

"You don't have to worry about that, My Fair Lady. I can promise you," he smiled softly, the corners of his mouth just barely tweaking upwards as his hand moved to brush that curled finger down the slope of her cheek. Didn't she know by now that he was the last person who would even think to desert her?

He would have said that, he would have said more, but Kim had looped her arms about his middle before he could, pressing her face to his sternum. The song had shifted one last time, to high, melancholy intervals, and he listened now, certain that he could hear the bittersweet farewell behind the sound.

"It'll be okay. This'll be enough," he said against her hair, where it twisted into the clip she'd donned it with. "Just this."

He could feel her nod against his chest, the contented sigh she heaved as her ribs expanded under his palm, his other hand having floated to rest just under the sharp of her shoulder blade. In truth, it was all he really wanted – to make her feel safe, like she deserved, and had needed for so long. Even if it wasn't there, he could imagine the scar that would lay beneath his hand from how she'd been impaled, the result of folly that caused the one he could see on himself, despite how her magic melted them both away. Things she didn't mean to cause or let happen, or fall into. They were the things he knew she was sorry for, even when she didn't have to be.

He found that even if it was something simple, she was teaching him new things, too. Whether it be the meaning behind an illusory song, or his own strength to go great lengths, he wanted to learn more from her.

Someday, he'd tell her that, too, when he wasn't pacing himself more carefully. He'd tell her what she was worth, honestly and earnestly, when she needed it. He would find some way to show her that money didn't have to be her only focal point, because while it wouldn't judge her, neither would he.

.:oOo:.


End file.
